


Playing Doctor

by shinxwoo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Doctor Iwaizumi, Equally innocent volleyball player Hanamaki, Innocent nurse Matsukawa, Iwaizumi is just kind of done, M/M, Oikawa pines, Professional Volleyball Player Oikawa, he pines a lot, somewhat of a slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9497714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinxwoo/pseuds/shinxwoo
Summary: But now, as Hajime twirls the pen in his hands, still stalling in front of Oikawa Tooru's door, he doesn't feel very professional or competent.In fact, his chest feels fluttery and his stomach seems upset and if he was a weaker person, Hajime would walk away right now. He'd screw Oikawa's flirty smiles and dumb jokes and dump the bastard onto some other doctor who would be better handled to deal with him.But Iwaizumi Hajime is no quitter and Oikawa will not be the thing to break him.So Hajime sucks in a deep breath and opens the door in one fast motion, something akin to ripping off a bandaid. This will mark the moment Hajime reinstates professional behavior toward his patient."Iwa-chan!"Hajime wants to turn around and run out the door.After a sabotage attack (read: complete accident) involving Kageyama and some slippery bleachers, Oikawa is stuck with a fractured leg and orders to stay away from volleyball for 3 months. This would normally be a problem, but luckily he has a hot doctor to nurse him back to health.Also, there's a side plot involving a nurse who makes way too many jokes at Oikawa's expense. Makki blushes a lot.





	1. Chapter 1

Tooru wants to yell and scream and maybe punch a hole through the wall but unfortunately, he is unable to do any of that in this moment. Instead, he’s stuck nursing a leg bent the wrong way, staring resolutely out the car window with a pout. He somewhat registers his best friend’s words but doesn’t pay them any attention.

No, Tooru is too busy cursing Tobio-chan and his future kids and grandkids and great-grandkids and so on to listen to Makki right now. His friend will just have to be patient and wait for Oikawa to bless him with his attention in a little bit.

Unfortunately, Makki is not a patient person, never has been, and prods Tooru with a finger when they’re at the next red traffic light.

In response, Tooru flashes him a fake pageant smile, pretending like he’s been listening the whole time. “I totally agree, Makki.”

Hanamaki shoots him a deadpan look, raising his almost nonexistent eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. Totally. One hundred percent. Completely agree.”

After giving him a long probing look, Makki finally says in a monotone voice, “Oh good. Because I just said that you should write a formal apology to Kageyama-kun and read it out in front of the whole team on Monday.”

The light turns green right after that remark and Tooru’s friend looks away before he catches Tooru’s wounded look. Or maybe he does catch it and chooses to ignore it; it’s hard to tell with that boy.

“Ma-kki” Oikawa drawls, “Don’t be a jerk. You saw what the brat did to me and you’re still going to defend him?”

Shrugging, his friend makes a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. “I don’t know. From where I was standing it looked like it was mostly your fault.”

At this Tooru gasps. “He’s the one who pushed me into the bleachers!”

Makki’s monotone voice isn’t budging. “You say that and I say you slipped on the water you squirted from your bottle while making a face at him.”

There’s a pause.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

Makki looks smug and in retaliation, Tooru turns his head the other way, glaring at the passing buildings through the tinted glass.

Currently, Makki’s car is flying by a high school building that reminds Tooru a lot of the one he attended a few years ago. It’s large, rigid and imposing and it takes him back to his school days that seem so long ago now.

Outside there is a team running laps on the track while its captain directs them with a loudspeaker. Tooru can’t tell what sport the boys are a part of, but he can picture his old team in their place. It makes his heart ache and he clutches at his chest in order to keep himself together.

Memories of running so hard that his chest heaved flash through his mind, as well as times when Tooru would stay in the gym after practice, perfecting his serves or tosses by himself for hours as the sun sank lower in the sky and the stars came out. He had been so dedicated, so in love with the sport. He still was all those things and that is what makes his situation so awful to think about.

Tooru doesn’t even mind the pain that his twisted and cracked leg is causing him. That pain is excruciating but only temporary and he can deal with that.

No, what’s more painful is the idea of never playing volleyball again, of never jumping up to block a spike or diving to hit a receive up into the air. Of never setting a ball up for one of his team members to hit, all because of one dumb _accident_.

And Tooru is fully aware that this was an accident. As much as he’d like to pettily blame his kouhai for his broken leg, that just wouldn’t be fair. This was all Tooru’s fault through and through and he’d have to live with the consequences. He’d been distracted and dumb, not looking where he stepped like a stumbling first-year and now he had a likely broken leg.

He can still remember the pure panic as he fell onto the slick gym floor. There was a moment when the world had moved in slow motion. Tooru had felt his foot land wrongly and he had realized what was happening but could do nothing about it; he’d never felt so utterly _helpless_ before. Then there was a sickening crack that rang through the gym and Tooru had gritted his teeth against the pain as coaches ran over and someone called for help.

All Tooru had been able to think were the same words over and over on repeat, tumbling like clothes in a washer. ‘ _What have I done?’_

When he speaks again, Tooru’s voice is quiet and anxious, “Makki, what am I going to do?”

There is a short pause as his friend decides what to say. At last, his monotone voice rings out on top of some shitty pop song in the background. “You’ll be yourself and get over this like you do with everything else.”

The weight is still heavy in Tooru’s chest, but Makki’s words make the load feel just a couple pounds lighter. Tooru is grateful and expresses it in the only way he knows how.

“Oh, I don’t now you felt this strongly about me, Makki! What a heartfelt love confession from my oldest friend!”

Hanamaki just rolls his eyes, choosing to stay silent until they reach the hospital. He’s always been a man of few words and the car ride is comfortable for the next few minutes as Tooru stares at the parks, office buildings, and homes that pass by.

That is until they pull into one of the establishment’s many parking lots and Tooru remembers he’s deathly afraid of hospitals.

 

* * *

 

 

After much shoving and grumbling by Makki, and mumbles of ‘he needs some kind of handler,’ and ‘they don’t pay me enough for this,’ Tooru is finally done with his x-rays and nurse check-ups. As expected, his leg is broken and will need a cast in order to heal.

A cast means sitting on the bench for six to eight weeks and hobbling around in crutches everywhere else. A cast means rotting away as other players like Hanamaki and Yahaba and _Kageyama_ surpass him until he is eventually kicked off his volleyball team.

In essence, a cast means his life is over.

Tooru tells as much to Hanamaki and his friend offers absolutely no support, telling him that he’s ‘being a drama queen’ and that ‘six weeks isn’t even that long of a time.’

Knowing better, Tooru ignores his best friend and lets his thoughts spiral further and further into a future of inconsequence and normalcy, all away from volleyball. By the time there is a knock on the door that signals the doctor’s arrival, Tooru has worked himself into quite a state and knows that this doctor won’t be happy with him. Even Tooru is aware of how difficult he gets when he’s in ‘one of his moods’.

Such moods include many snippy and biting comments to whoever is unfortunate enough to have to deal with him. He can already feel the insults on his tongue, all about to be directed at some graying middle aged man who will assure Tooru that his leg will be fine.

Tooru knows his leg won’t be fine. And nothing else will be fine until his leg is fine. And so, Tooru will have no choice to snap at some doctor who will try to delude him into thinking that his leg is fine. Stupid theoretical doctor, Tooru just explained that nothing will be fine again.

The door creaks open and the insults feel like they are coating Tooru’s tongue in armor as he goes off to battle. He’s ready and Makki looks like he’s bracing himself as well, tense shoulders belying his impassive expression.

Then the doctor takes a step in, coming into full view and every single one of Tooru’s insults dissolve away like cotton candy.

His mouth tastes sweet and useless thoughts flutter through his head. _What’s an insult? I’ve never heard of it. All I know are chocolate brown eyes and spiky black hair and arms so toned that I want to drool while I run my hands along them._

And then one thought sticks out amongst the countless others; Tooru’s doctor is **_fine._**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, I posted this fic a few months ago but then got anxiety and deleted it. I promise not to do that again and to prove it, I'll even post two chapters today _(also, it'll make sure I don't chicken out again)._
> 
> Enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

Iwaizumi Hajime is finally at that stable point in his life that he has always dreamed of. Thirty years old, a certified orthopedist done with his five-year residency, and finally making enough money to not have to worry about having single digits in his bank account, he is at peace.

Sure, the student loans are giving him a headache and patients aren’t always the most cooperative people in the world, but none of that matters. He loves his job and there is nowhere he’d rather be than at Seijoh Hospital.

Even during days like this one. It’s been a bit of a busy day and Hajime has spent most of it running from patient to patient, leaving very little time for relaxation in between. In just a few hours, he's had to help patients of all sorts, from an elderly woman with a broken hipbone, to a small boy who broke his arm while climbing a tree. It has been an interesting day, but a little headache inducing. 

Despite this, Hajime resolves himself to become focused on his new patient. Headaches aside, he still has at least a couple more hours ahead of him. Tibial fractures are common, but that doesn’t mean this will be a quick appointment. Putting on a cast takes time, as does explaining the injury to the patient.

Before heading to the room, he takes a quick scan of the patient information once more, mostly to commit it to memory. He'd studied it in detail while the nurse was taking x rays but it can't hurt to take a quick refresh. Hajime is nothing if not thorough.

As he makes his way to his office, he can feel the presence of someone else sliding up next to him.

A familiar nurse’s deep voice rings out and Hajime immediately recognizes it as Matsukawa. “Do you need any help with this one? Non-displaced tibial fracture, right?”

Hajime nods but keeps his eyes on his clipboard. He taps once on the patient form with a bone-shaped pen. “I’ll need to put on a long leg cast. You up for that?”

Matsukawa makes an annoyed sound but Hajime knows he’ll agree anyways; he always does. “What a pain.”

“I’ll call you after I explain everything to the patient.”

Another annoyed sound comes from the man walking next to him, but when Hajime chances a glance at the nurse, the man is nodding.

 

* * *

 

Hajime has known Matsukawa since he first started his residency at Seijoh.

Fresh off his graduation from medical school, Hajime had begun his residency at the hospital with a little too much confidence despite having almost no real experience. Looking back, it made a sense that he had felt that way; Hajime had graduated top of his class and had been given sparkling recommendations from professors.

But still, he had been a little too smug and needed to be knocked down a few pegs. Matsukawa was more than happy to be the one to do so.

The nurse's first words to Hajime had been, “I can just tell that you’re a cocky shit without you even saying one word.”

The deadpan delivery of the words had made Hajime laugh, and he didn’t even feel offended. In his option, one of Hajime’s best qualities has always been his ability to take criticism and as time went on, Hajime had taken heed of Matsukawa’s criticism, putting them into use as he helped patients.

Matsukawa’s reliable work ethic made Hajime feel a great respect for the nurse and in time, the nurse began to feel the same towards Hajime.

They became close friends and Matsukawa had been Hajime’s biggest supporter during his residency. Without his support, Hajime isn’t sure he would have made it through the difficult moments of these five years.

 

* * *

 

Back in the present, Matsukawa is a seasoned head nurse with a sharp tongue usually used to make some sort of sarcastic remark. But he’s reliable and hardworking, and there is no one Hajime would rather work with than him.

“Good luck Iwaizumi.”

He glances at the nurse and then focuses back on his clipboard. “Don’t need it but thanks.”

Matsukawa snorts, claps Hajime on the back and walks over to one of his junior nurses, a small man named Hinata who is scrambling with papers and nervously fluttering around.

Hajime can just make out Matsukawa’s stern words of, “Hinata, this isn’t a performance. I don’t understand why you get so nervous every single time.”

Then, Hajime is in front of the door. He looks at the name and age of the patient one last time before he meets him.

Oikawa Tooru. 29. Scratchy handwriting has made notes on the paper, and the added details are specific.

When Iwaizumi Hajime walks through that newly repainted door, he doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it surely isn’t what who he finds sitting in his office.

 

There are two men there, shoulders and bodies so large that they almost look comical sitting in the too-small chairs. Hajime’s eyes are drawn to the first man, sitting closest to the door, and the doctor can’t help the way his breath catches slightly in his throat.

The man is so gorgeous; it’s unfair really. Light brown hair is piled in a perfectly messy nest on his head, and his brown eyes are so light that they seem to sparkle, even under the harsh hospital lighting. Long legs encased in short athletic shorts are held out in front of his chair, and Hajime can immediately tell which leg is broken by the way he’s cradling it, slightly bent and propped off the floor a few centimeters.

As Hajime takes a step in, he notes that the man’s eyes are wide in what Hajime guesses is nervousness. The man’s mouth is slack, expression set in.. surprise? Hajime can’t tell.

A brown-haired man is sitting next to the first and he looks slightly surprised as well, eyebrows raised slightly. But instead of looking at Hajime, his eyes are trained on the man next to him.

“Hello,” he nods at them both, beginning introductions. “My name is Iwaizumi Hajime and I’ll be your doctor today. It’s nice to meet you.”

The second man nods and meets Hajime’s handshake halfway. “Hanamaki Takahiro.”

Hajime nods and moves his gaze over to the first, gorgeous man, who he is assuming is his patient, Oikawa.

That man, however, is still frozen in place, mouth still slack and eyes wide. It’s only when Hanamaki coughs that he breaks out of the pose.

Immediately the man’s expression changes and he’s smiling widely, posed confidently. He meets Hajime’s handshake and looks his doctor in the eye.

“I’m Oikawa Tooru, your new patient,” he says in a syrupy voice, hand flexing in Hajime's grip.

Nodding, Hajime moves to pull his hand back out of the handshake, but the man is still holding firm. A smirk is on Oikawa’s face and he winks once at his doctor. Hajime waits for the man to let go of his hand, but the seconds continue and his patient is still holding strong.

_Well, this is getting a little awkward._

“Uh,” Hajime begins, not really sure how to go about this. His hand is getting a little sweaty encased in Oikawa’s grip. “You can let go of my hand now, Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa drops Hajime’s hand immediately like he’s been burned, eyes widening and cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

Hanamaki snorts loudly at the exchange and Oikawa’s head whips around to him, shooting him n angry glare. The two are engaged in a silent conversation for a few moments and Hanamaki looks smug.

Hajime coughs to break it up when it gets to be a bit much, not really in the mood to be sitting in this office for hours.

“So,” he begins, “how did you break your leg?”

Oikawa’s face screws up in distaste and lets out one long sigh before opening his mouth to reply. “It’s a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

Well, yes, Hajime thinks. That _is_ why he asked the question, after all. He prepares himself for some theatrics.

Oikawa’s voice is sing-songy as he recants his tale. “I’m Japan’s resident volleyball sweetheart, maybe you’ve heard of me? I’m the setter for one of the most accomplished teams in the world.”

When Hajime offers no sort of response apart from a long blink, Oikawa continues.

“A few years ago, a promising young athlete named Tobio-chan came to the team. Now, he’s also a setter but he hasn’t gotten as much court time as me, so obviously he became jealous. I never thought that it would come to this, but earlier today, he got so envious that he saw an opportunity to get rid of me and pushed me off the bleachers.”

Oikawa clutches his jersey right above his heart, screwing his eyes up in mock pain. “The last thing I saw before I hit the ground was Tobio-chan’s taunting smile. It seemed possessed on my dear kouhai’s face. I think it will haunt me until the day I die!”

One of Oikawa’s arms is reaching out towards some imaginary person, the other still clutching to his jersey. He lowers his head as though he’s some sort of shitty actor, wrapping up a dramatic scene.

Hajime immediately feels a need to side with this ‘Tobio-chan,’ but begins jotting down notes on his clipboard anyways, handwriting an almost illegible chicken scratch.

Hanamaki’s voice rings out before Hajime has the chance to write more than a couple words. Those words include ‘bleachers’ and ‘fall.’

Hanamaki’s voice is monotone and lifeless when he speaks. “Ignore him. The only true thing he said was about the bleachers. He slipped and fell and landed wrong on his foot. He started screaming so I got him to the hospital as fast as I could.”

“Makki!” Oikawa yells out, voice indignant. The only way Hajime could describe his patient’s features would be utterly betrayed.

Humming, Hajime turns his full attention to Hanamaki, who seems leagues more reliable that Oikawa.

“About what time would you say this happened?”

Hanamaki takes out his phone to check the current time. “About an hour ago, so I’d say about 3:30.”

Hajime jots down a few more notes and then stands up, pulling out the envelope that contains Oikawa’s x rays. He flicks off the light switch and hangs the scans of Oikawa’s lower on a glowing panel on the wall.

The scans have been cropped to only show Oikawa’s lower leg, the part where the break occurred. In the long tibia bone of Oikawa’s shin, there is a clear cut line. It runs horizontally near the middle of the bone. 

Hajime stands next to the x-ray and points at it with his pen, gesturing to relevant areas as he talks.

“The tibia is one of the longest bones in your leg. Usually, it’s broken by high impact collisions or as a result of repeated stress in athletes.”

He points to Oikawa’s x-ray, tapping at the fracture with his pen.

“You’re lucky. The bones are still in place which means no surgery and a quicker recovery time,” he looks at Oikawa and expects some questions but the man’s eyes are glazed, face fixed on Hajime’s and focused nowhere near the x-ray.

“Uh,” he grunts, eyebrows knit in confusion. “You getting this, Oikawa?”

The man simply nods, and Hajime isn’t sure he’s paying attention but decides to keep going anyways. At least Hanamaki seems invested, busy jotting down notes in the black notebook he brought along.

“Because this bone is so large, it takes quite a bit longer than other broken bones to heal. Minimally we say about three months.”

At this, Oikawa finally sits up straight and participates. “I’m a volleyball player. Can’t we shorten that time a little?”

Hajime levels a serious look at his patient. It’s a little hard to see Oikawa in the dark, but Hajime is sure that he has a challenging look on his face.

“No, Oikawa-san. You need to allow your leg to heal and overworking it or putting weight on your leg prematurely may lead to permanent damage.”

Oikawa makes a noise like he wants to argue again, so Hajime continues. “I’ll say it again. Not letting your leg heal properly _will_ lead to permanent damage. If you don’t let your tibia heal, you may never play again.”

The words are ominous and foreboding and Hajime lets them hang in the air for the few seconds as he walks back to the light switch. Harsh, yellow-tinted light fills the room and Hajime can finally see Oikawa properly.

The man’s body looks relaxed, but Hajime recognizes the tenseness lying underneath, the nervousness hidden under the cocky smile etched on Oikawa’s face.

Dragging a chair in front of Oikawa, he leans close to his patient so the man can’t look anywhere else. Oikawa sits up a little straighter as Hajime gets close, fake smile falling and eyes growing wide.

Using his sternest voice, Hajime tells him straight. “Oikawa. There’s no need to be worried. If you listen to what I’m telling you, your leg will heal up just fine.”

He offers his most comforting smile, which Matsukawa has told him on many occasion is not very comforting at all.

Oikawa looks pacified at least, and a light blush graces his cheeks, probably as a result of embarrassment for his comments earlier. Hajime smiles again and moves his chair back to his desk and his computer.

He types at it for a few seconds, entering in the information for the procedure he is about to perform.

He turns slightly and finds that Oikawa is already looking at him. Raising an eyebrow, he asks, “any questions, Oikawa-san?”

The man shakes his head mutely, blush still evident in the fading pink of his cheeks.

Hanamaki lets out a snort, drawing the attention of both Oikawa and Hajime. In a monotone voice (one that reminds Hajime a lot of Matsukawa), he says, “Oikawa here has turned mute, so I guess I’ll have to ask the questions.”

Oikawa squeaks indignantly, opening his mouth to say something, but Hanamaki continues, undeterred.

“You said no surgery, correct?”

Hajime nods. “Yes. Because it is a non-displaced fracture, a cast will be all he needs.”

Hanamaki pauses as he writes a few words down in his black notebook. Then he’s talking again. “Will he be able to do any physical therapy with the cast on? We have a tournament coming up in a few months, and I know Oikawa doesn’t want to miss that.”

Hajime hums, tapping at his clipboard where he wrote down some quick notes about treatment. “He will need a long cast for about four weeks. With that on, he can’t move his leg at all, and will be mostly restricted to bed.”

Oikawa sighs dramatically, tilting his head back and looking at the ceiling. Both of the other men in the room ignore him.

“After those four weeks, I may be able to switch to a Sarmiento cast.”

Hajime rifles around his desk for a piece of scratch paper and finally finds one. Placing it on the table in front of Oikawa and Hanamaki, he roughly sketches out both the long and Sarmiento casts.

He taps at the long cast first. In his messy drawing, the cast is shown to snake up the leg, stopping quite high at the upper thigh. “This is the long cast. It’s very restricting, and movement is difficult, if not impossible. We will give you a wheelchair to use while you have it on.”

Then he taps at the Sarmiento cast, a shorter thing, only going so high as to stop right below the knee. “This is the Sarmiento, or patella tendon bearing cast. As soon as this is on, Oikawa will be able to start putting weight on his leg, and after about 3 weeks, he’ll be able to completely walk on it. Physical therapy can begin at that time.”

Hanamaki is nodding, jotting down more notes, but Oikawa just scrunches his nose up at the drawings, bringing his face closer to study them.

There is a pause and Hajime thinks that Oikawa will have some sort of question about the process.

“You’re a really bad drawer.”

Hajime is so caught off guard, he can’t help it; he sputters and yanks the paper backwards, reacting defensively.

“Well there’s a reason I went to medical school and not art school,” he snaps.

Oikawa immediately looks amused, eyes crinkling up with the beginnings of a genuine smile.

Hajime can feel warmth pooling in his face, and immediately coughs, straightening up and turning back towards the computer.

What caused that outburst? It’s not like Hajime to slip up and lose professionalism like that. It must just be the result of his long day, he reasons. Even the most seasoned doctors can slip up from time to time and he thinks that every person would react in some way to Oikawa.

Oikawa’s voice drags him out of is thoughts. His voice is back to syrupy as he says, “Mind if I keep this, Hajime? You know, for future reference?”

Hajime snaps his gaze back to Oikawa and can’t help the way his eyes narrow slightly. _Hajime?_

“Oikawa-san, I’d prefer it if you called me Iwaizumi.”

Oikawa pouts, a full bottom lip jutting out while eyebrows etch together in mock-sadness. “But that’s so boring!” he says, drawing out the last word.

Hajime shrugs and pulls his attention back to the computer. “Well, it _is_ my name.”

The room stays silent for a few moments as Hajime finishes typing in notes. It’s only when he’s standing up and preparing to get Matsukawa to help put on the cast, that Oikawa finally speaks up again. 

“I think I’m going to call you Iwa-chan.”

Hajime had been turning and taking a step towards the door when the words finally register in his brain. He stops mid-step, body freezing as he processes the unfamiliar words.

 _Iwa-chan_?

Then Hajime is turning around and it takes every ounce of self-control to keep the irritation off his face. Oikawa looks very smug and proud of himself, a wide, toothy smile set in place.

Hajime takes a deep breath to calm himself. In a surprisingly controlled voice, he asks, “what did you just call me?”

"Iwa-chan! It's absolutely perfect. I love it."

"No." Hajime's voice is firm and open to no arguments. A lesser man would give in to that voice. Unfortunately, Oikawa is not one of those men.

Oikawa completely ignores his doctor, turning to the other man in the room.

"It's perfect, isn't it, Makki?" The man's eyes are practically sparking.

Hanamaki is much less excited. He's rubbing his temples like he has a headache but gives no response to his friend. Nor does he come to the doctor’s aid. All he offers is a simple, “I’m sorry, Iwaizumi-san.”

Hajime clutches his pen a little tighter, sure that his face is radiating disbelief. “I-’ he pauses to collect his thoughts. “I’ll be right back with a nurse so we can put on your cast.”

Then he’s out the door, still not sure that just happened.

Iwa-chan? _Really?_ What is this guy, five years old?

 

* * *

 

“Are you all right, Oikawa-san?” Hajime’s voice is concerned as he wraps up the leg. Throughout the process, Oikawa had been fine, offering sarcastic comments to both Matsukawa and Hajime as they wrapped up his ankle.

But as soon as Hajime had begun to encase his shin, the area with the broken bone, Oikawa had begun swearing under his breath. Hajime isn’t sure the man’s even aware that he’s doing it.

“Do you want to take a quick break?” Hajime glances down at the leg that Matsukawa is propping up. The nurse is careful not to apply too much pressure, but Hajime has no doubt that feeling anything against the broken area is excruciatingly painful.

Oikawa’s teeth are gritted and he speaks through them. “No, we’re all good Iwa-chan. You can keep going.”

The nurse and doctor team work in silence for a few minutes, until Matsukawa finally decides to speak up.

“Iwa-chan?” is all that Matsukawa asks, a smirk evident in his voice.

Hajime can feel a blush warming his cheeks but he chooses to ignore the question, keeping focused on the task at hand.

He wraps around more of the gauze, smoothing with liquid afterward and continuing the process all the way up to Oikawa’s upper thigh. At the end, he wraps the light blue tape around the entirety of the cast and steps back to inspect his work.

The leg is bent at the perfect angle for recovery and Oikawa no longer looks pale and sweating. In fact, Oikawa looks happily at the cast.

“This color is great, Iwa-chan. How did you know it’s my favorite?”

Hajime shrugs in response. He had picked out that color to match Oikawa’s jersey color, as a silent type of reassurance that the man will be back to playing his favorite sport in no time. Obviously, he doesn’t say any of that out loud.

“Lucky guess,” is all he grunts.

He claps Matsukawa on the shoulder as the nurse makes his way out of the office. Matsukawa shoots him a smirk and mouths ‘Iwa-chan,’ discreetly. Hajime prays that Oikawa doesn’t notice.

It seems as though luck is on Hajime's side because Oikawa stays oblivious. Oikawa’s eyes narrow in on that contact of Hajime’s hand on Matsukawa’s shoulder, but says nothing. He just looks back down, tilting his leg back and forth, admiring the color of the cast once more.

“Okay, no weight can be put on this at all. This wheelchair is your new best friend.” Hajime rolls a worn black wheelchair towards Oikawa, locking it in place in front of him.

“Sorry, Makki. It looks like you’re being replaced,” Oikawa says as Hajime helps him into the wheelchair. It’s a bit of a process, as Oikawa’s leg is a little long and it takes Hajime a few extra seconds to prop it up.

Hanamaki rolls his eyes in response. Thanking Hajime, he rolls his friend out of the office.

Oikawa’s last words are a happy, ‘ _See you in a couple days, Iwa-chan~”_ as he’s wheeled out.

As soon as the door closes, Hajime slumps down in his chair, head propped up by his arms as he nurses a budding headache. That man is just so _much_. He required all of Hajime’s attention and his suggestive little comments had kept Hajime on guard throughout the entire appointment.

He’s not looking forward to Saturday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Bonus:**
> 
> “Don’t think you’re being a little much?” 
> 
> “Makki, listen to the words of someone much wiser and more charismatic than you: If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks.” 
> 
> “I don’t think that really applies here.”
> 
> “Until it breaks, Makki. And I will make Iwa-chan break.”


	3. Chapter 3

Takahiro isn’t quite sure when his name changed from Hanamaki Takahiro to ‘Oikawa’s Professional Babysitter,’ but that’s where his life is right about now. It’s Oikawa’s fourth checkup at Seijoh hospital, and, of course, his other team members had been too busy to take over carpool.

Today, after the team’s afternoon practice, Takahiro had looked over at his teammates, all of whom were avoiding eye contact and packing up their things faster than he’d ever seen.

Before he could even take one step towards the bench, Watari had stuffed everything in his black bag, shorts hanging halfway out one zipper, and ran toward the door yelling, _“Have a good day, Hanamaki-senpai!”_ The younger players were quick to follow.

 _“Hey, Yahaba,"_ Takahiro had begun, getting cut off immediately by the man’s pale hand held an inch away from Takahiro's face.

_“Don’t want to drive him. Sorry.”_

Oikawa’s indignant squawk had been ignored by the last stragglers in the gym.

 _“Kyoutani,”_  Takahiro tried, but the player had long since left. He had been silent in his leave, and Hanamaki pictured him tiptoeing out of the gym as him and Yahaba talked.

Kageyama had been the only one to offer his help, but Takahiro had waved him off. He didn’t want to get the poor boy beheaded by the Great King.

And so, Takahiro was put on chauffeur duty, again, like he had for the past four hospital trips.

He has a sneaking suspicion he’s paying for some sort of sin in a past life. It must have been pretty serious to be saddled with the likes of Oikawa.

“Do you think Iwa-chan will be happy to see me? We haven’t been face-to-face in so long.” It has only been two days, but that must seem like an eternity in Oikawa’s world.

Yes, Takahiro reasons, it must have been a very serious sin. A past-life Takahiro must have spit on old people in his free time. It was a sin deserving of punishment. Oikawa’s voice is saying something else but Takahiro doesn’t really register whatever it is. He’s too busy contemplating reincarnation possibilities. In any case, Takahiro probably isn't missing much. He has a feeling that Oikawa is talking about Iwaizumi’s arms again.

A soft knock on the door breaks up their not-conversation. Oikawa sighs dramatically and Takahiro wants to do the same. While Oikawa has been absolutely _‘charming’_ towards Iwaizumi, he’s been dreadful to all the nurses.

But then a familiar face pops through the door, and Takahiro can’t suppress his smile. Matsukawa sees Takahiro and smirks back, one side of his mouth lifting a little higher than the other.

The expression makes Takahiro’s heart skip a beat and he can actually feel the unnatural sensation in his chest. Takahiro’s first thought is: _Well, that was a little unsettling_. Takahiro’s second thought comes soon afterward.

_Matsukawa is pretty hot._

“Hello, Oikawa. How are you feeling today?”

“Oh, I’m doing wonderful, _Mattsun~_ ” Oikawa sings. “I’m ready to be checked by my lovely doctor.”

Matsukawa sits down in front of the computer, typing in a long password before the screen lights up to a sterile, light blue background. “Mattsun? Is that another one of your weird nicknames?”

Oikawa shrugs and Takahiro answers for him.

“Don’t fight it. It’ll be less painful if you just accept and move on.”

The nurse hums distractedly, not bothering to look at Takahiro or Oikawa. “So this is a regular thing with him?”

“The team’s pretty sure it’s because Oikawa can’t actually remember anyone’s name so he covers it up with extravagant nicknames.”

The bark of a nurse’s laugh. It’s deep and throaty and Makki has to turn the side of his head to hide a blush. “It’d make sense to me.”

Silence fills the room as Matsukawa rifles under the desk, digging for his equipment. Small clangs can be heard every few seconds.

“Okay, Oikawa. Just going to do all the normal stuff: blood pressure, weight, yada, yada.”

Oikawa nods and shows his disinterest by holding a hand up to his face, admiring his nails.

 

After the measurements have been taken - complete with an annoyed huff by Oikawa as he stood on the measuring scale. _“Something is wrong with your scale, Mattsun. I did not gain two pounds.”_ \- Takahiro tries his hand at wooing Matsukawa.

“So how is it, you know?”

Matsukawa lifts one furry eyebrow up at Takahiro. “Not sure. You’re going to have to elaborate.”

“Being a nurse.” No response. “Is it.. fun?”

Takahiro curses his awkwardness in his head as his cheeks heat up. He feels the urge to run out of the room right about now, but he’ll stay strong for his friend’s health. Sorta, maybe. He’s probably staying more for another one of those chuckles.

Matsukawa’s smirk is teasing. “Right now it’s definitely feeling that way.”

 _Well_ , the word echoes in Takahiro’s head as his chest does another one of those skip-a-beat things. Now he has no choice but to get Matsukawa’s number. But then the nurse is packing up his things, and it’s too late: missed opportunities and all that.

  
Oikawa has been suspiciously quiet the entire time Matsukawa was in the room, and now that the nurse has left, Takahiro isn’t looking forward to hearing what the setter has to say.

When Takahiro looks back at his friend, Oikawa has that dangerous, curious gleam in his eyes that just screams: _‘danger, danger.’_

It’s the one that means Oikawa is about to comment on a friend’s embarrassing secret, or berate a teammate for missing a set, or launch into one of his weird schemes. Basically, it’s a look that Takahiro does not want to see right now.

“So talkative today! Is it possible that my friend finally has a crush on somebody?”

Takahiro holds a hand out; one palm lies flat toward Oikawa, the other holds the bridge of his nose to ward off an impending headache. “Oikawa. Don’t.”

Oikawa’s voice is singsongy, and Takahiro senses the trademarked smugness. “But I really think you should-”

“Oikawa. Don’t. I’m serious.” Takahiro holds up his pointer finger and thumb about an inch apart. “I’m already this close to dumping your ass and leaving Kageyama to bring you to and from this hospital.”

A dramatic gasp. “You’re bluffing!”

Takahiro crosses his arms and stares down an amused Oikawa. Takahiro’s eyes just say: _try me._

Oikawa holds his hands up in surrender, but his eyes are still crinkled up, hinting at a barely-concealed smile. It’s about as subtle as that the man can get; Takahiro supposes he should be grateful.

“Okay, I’ll give. But you still have a really dark blush on your face, so I don’t know-” he trails off and the smile isn’t very concealed anymore.

Now Takahiro’s fingers are a millimeter apart. “This close, Oikawa.”

“I was kidding~” the singsongy voice has made a comeback. “This is why you’re single, Makki. Always so serious!”

 

* * *

 

Clipboard in one hand and glasses hooked onto the pocket of his scrubs, Hajime takes a deep breath and fiddles with the papers on his clipboard, stalling before he has to walk into the room holding one, 'Oikawa Tooru'.

Whatever his patient has in store for Hajime, he'll be sure to take it in stride, or at least that's what the doctor keeps telling himself.

In truth, Hajime has no idea what to expect from his flirty patient. The man is so confident, so witty, so absolutely infuriating, that it unnerves the doctor. And that's saying something, because nothing unnerves Iwaizumi Hajime.

While still in rotation, Hajime and his fellow future doctors had been on duty when a man was run into the hospital on a stretcher, EMT's handing him over with rushed shouts and commands to awaiting emergency room staff.

The man had been in particularly bad shape, the worst that Hajime had ever seen. Long gashes and dried blood coated his body, legs and arms twisted into unnatural angles. Hajime would later find out that the man's injuries had been from a nasty car accident with a semi-truck. He'd crashed headfirst and when the emergency techs had made it onto the scene, his body was twisted around his car, barely clinging to life while shallow breaths left his mouth. On the stretcher, he was a mess, bloody and almost unrecognizable as human.

Hajime's classmates had wavered, mouths open but no sounds coming out and bodies frozen in place, not sure if it was their place to offer assistance. It had been the first major accident that any of them had seen in person after all, Hajime included.

But while his classmates stood in place in their confusion, Hajime jumped into action, not pausing a moment before standing at the sides of the man and his senior doctors. Whatever he felt inside, Hajime didn't let show and the twisting fear in his gut was pushed down before it could take hold. He held out tools and listened to the doctors' commands carefully, providing the assistance that helped save that man's life.

Later, with a wink, the head doctor would hand Hajime a cheap pen made to look like a bone. He'd said with a scratchy laugh, _"you're a part of the club now Iwaizumi, the competent doctors club. Good job today."_ Hajime had grumbled his thanks, but kept the pen anyways, keeping it in his scrub pocket and refilling it whenever the ink ran out. It had become a symbol of his love for his profession and a reminder that he was a competent, level-headed professional. Able to take on anything thrown at him.

But now, as Hajime twirls the pen in his hands, still stalling in front of Oikawa Tooru's door, he doesn't feel very professional or competent.

In fact, his chest feels fluttery and his stomach seems upset and if he was a weaker person, Hajime would walk away right now. He'd screw Oikawa's flirty smiles and dumb jokes and dump the bastard onto some other doctor who would be better handled to deal with him.

But Iwaizumi Hajime is no quitter and Oikawa will not be the thing to break him.

So Hajime sucks a deep breath in through his nostrils and opens the door in one fast motion, something akin to ripping off a band-aid. This will mark the moment Hajime reinstates professional behavior toward his patient.

"Iwa-chan!"

Hajime wants to turn around and run out the door.

Instead, he meets Oikawa's beaming smile with a semi-scowl of his own, fighting an inner battle to keep from snapping at his patient. He nods a greeting at Hanamaki. The man nods back.

"Oikawa-san," he starts, trying and failing to keep his voice from sounding exasperated, "I asked you to stop calling me that."

The man just laughs at his doctor, white toothy smile unwavering. "But Iwa-chan suits you so well! And we're close enough for pet names. You're my friend aren't you, Iwa-chan?"

Hajime chooses to completely ignore Oikawa's question and get straight to business. He taps his pen a couple times on his clipboard, ready to jot down notes. "How is your leg feeling today?"

"As good as ever. I mean, it _is_ broken.”

“Any pain or discomfort?”

“Well,” Oikawa pauses, looking down at the blue casting. “It’s a little itchy.”

Hajime nods, jotting down a few notes. “That’s normal. It happens when moisture gets trapped inside the cast. Don’t scratch at it because even the smallest cut can become infected.”

Oikawa nods sagely, but Hajime can tell that he’s probably scratched at it more times than he can count. He looks at Hanamaki for the next part, “talcum powder helps, or drying out the area with a hairdryer on the cool setting.”

Hanamaki nods, writing in his notebook with neat, linear handwriting.

“Any other problems since Wednesday?”

Oikawa shakes his head. Hajime looks over to Hanamaki (a much better source of the truth) who is also shaking his head.

“You haven’t had any strenuous activity, have you?”

Oikawa crosses his arms and huffs. “No, Makki wouldn’t let me on the court.”

Hanamaki doesn’t even bother looking up from his notebook.

“I just wanted to bounce the volleyball a few times, _Maybe_ once over the net. How damaging could that possibly be?”

“Oikawa,” It slips Hajime’s mind to tack on the honorific. “You’re restrained to a wheelchair. I doubt you could do much playing.”

“No, but I _could_ throw a volleyball at Tobio-chan’s face.” Tooru’s voice isn’t the least bit teasing; it sounds serious. He likely does want to throw a volleyball at this ‘Kageyama’ and knock him out.

“I think you should watch out, Hanamaki.” Hajime says, prompting the other man to look up at him, “Oikawa might kill the poor boy.”

Hanamaki snorts and looks back down at his notebook. “Might? It’s his dream to kill Kageyama.”

“Hey!”

"I feel bad for the kid, and I’ve never even met him.”

“Trust me, you’d feel even worse after seeing him. He’s like a puppy.”

“Is he?”

“Yes, very innocent.”

“Makki,” Oikawa begins, a warning in his tone.

“You should have seen his face when Oikawa fell, he-“

Oikawa cuts his friend off, and Hajime can clearly detect the faux-sweetness dripping from his words. “Iwa-chan, I think you should call Mattsun back in.”

“Mattsun?” Hajime asks, confused, but his question is ignored as the other two men in the room participate in a silent standoff. They stare into each other’s eyes, Hanamaki lifting an eyebrow at Oikawa and Oikawa’s smile looking deadly. Finally, a conclusion seems to be reached.

“Okay, Iwa-chan, you may continue.”

“I,” Hajime scratches at the back of his head with the pen, expression twisted up in confusion. “Uhh, okay. I’m just going to feel around for swelling. You already know how this goes.”

 _"Do I ever,"_ Oikawa purrs, holding out his leg in what he must think is an attractive pose.

(it's not. With that cast on, all Tooru looks is uncomfortable, holding his leg out at an unnatural angle)


End file.
